


in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten

by sagemb



Series: a planet off its axis [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reconstruction, a wedding on the horizon, private and public mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagemb/pseuds/sagemb
Summary: In the wake of the cataclysm, the Stark Relief Foundation sets up a funeral fund.





	in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten

In the wake of the cataclysm, the Stark Relief Foundation sets up a funeral fund.

 

* * *

 

_You have not become a father yet. You never thought you'd want to and you never thought you could and maybe you won't ever will. Maybe it all just ends very fast like this. Holding his little kid body like if you do it tight enough, he won't go. He'd spent a long time as a kid without a father, but you will have to know what it feels like to lose a son._

 

* * *

 

  
The ship barely makes it back to Earth; his landing is more of a controlled collapse, and then he's tearing out of there, clawing the door away like there's not enough air. Outside, in the grass and trees and sky, it isn't any better. His lungs are so shallow. He's aching, he can't breathe, not until— until—

"Pepper," Tony says, and buries himself in her sternum, tears burning down his cheeks. "Pepper, I— he's gone, they're all gone— I killed them, oh God—"

Her trembling fingers thread through his hair. "Tony," she says, voice breaking and raw, "don't you ever, ever, _ever—"_

His sobs shake them so hard that they can barely stand, and a moment later, hers do too.

In the medical wing they sleep on the same hospital bed, wound tightly into each other's bodies like letting go would mean disappearance. And maybe it would, he thinks. They don't let go. Not even when they wake up.

 

* * *

 

Everyone is mourning someone, or multiple someones. A lot of families hold joint funerals for their deceased; even still, outreach groups hold public memorials for the people who don't have anybody left to remember them.

Three point eight billion people who don't exist anymore. How many forgotten? What's the percentage? Tony tries to imagine them all, what they might have looked like, whom they might have loved, who might have loved them. He keeps on seeing the kid's face.

 

* * *

 

During Tony's twelfth hour back on Earth, he flies to Queens for a conversation he's dreading with a sort of numb buzzing in his veins. But when he knocks on the door of the Parker residence, he's greeted by awful stillness.

He breaks in just to make sure. On the couch in front of the TV is a pile of ashes. The TV's still playing CNN.

He grabs the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet and plugs it in. He stares down at the pile of ashes, thinks, _is that really all the mass conserved from one entire person?_ and then runs to the bathroom and vomits in the toilet.

 

* * *

 

When he gets back to Pepper, he reaches for her like a lifeline.

"Should we have a funeral?" he asks, barely moving his lips.

She curls a hand around his waist. "We'll remember them either way."

"I'm going to fix this."

Her grip tightens.

"I know you have to," she says.

 

* * *

 

He gets in touch with the acting executives of various social media platforms. Together, they set up a digital network to help reconnect surviving friends and family. He watches messages flood across the board, so many _have-you-seens_ and _I'm-so-glad-you're-alives_ and _I'm-trying-to-get-in-touch-withs_ and thinks: _grief really is the most banal thing, isn't it._

Pepper still doesn't seem to want to let him out of her sight, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't want to let her out of his, either. Corporate operations have been shut down for at least the rest of the quarter, maybe even indefinitely— he couldn't give less of a fuck— and instead they direct their attention to relief efforts. A lot of government organizations— hell, a lot of governments, period— are struggling to stay functional. They help out where they can.

 

* * *

 

"Steve," Tony says.

"Tony," replies Steve. Tony almost doesn't recognize this dark, bearded, gaunt-faced man. "I heard about you and Pepper. Congratulations."

"Thanks." He fidgets with his glasses. "I, uh, we're probably going to postpone the wedding. It just— it doesn't seem very tasteful, given the circumstances."

"Since when does Tony Stark care about tasteful?"

Tony looks away. A few years ago he'd have known that this wasn't a taunt, but he isn't sure anymore. Or maybe a few years ago he'd have taken it as a taunt and been angry for it. Has all his anger run dry?

No, he realizes. There's only one thing to be angry at now.

"Have your wedding, Tony," Steve says, hand reaching across the table to rest on Tony’s forearm. "There's so much chaos and grief in the world right now. Or what's left of it, anyway. I think there should be some happiness happening somewhere. We keep mourning— soon we aren't gonna know how to stop."

"There are people who," he begins, then chews on his lip. "I'd want them to be there."

"Tony." Steve's gaze is unforgiving, but this is a form of mercy in itself: the hard, honest truth. "War isn't over. Let's face it, you might want to get married sooner than later, if you want to make sure it happens at all."

"Oh." Tony stares at him, this man who's no stranger to losing people and worlds, who's still alive and kicking against all odds. No wonder he's lost some of his bright-eyed idealism over the years. "Okay, yeah, I'll talk to Pepper about it. We'll probably just keep it simple, if it happens."

"Good," Steve says firmly. "And I— I hope I'm invited?"

"If you want," says Tony.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, his brow furrowed. And isn't it funny, how Tony knows just what he's going to say?

 

* * *

 

When he gets home, he finds Pepper lying on the sofa, just beginning to stir from sleep. He takes off his jacket and glasses and sits down at her feet.

"Tony," she says, a half-lidded, fuzzy-edged smile on her face.

"Hi honey. Good nap?"

"Mm." She sits up and rests her forehead against his shoulder, sliding a hand under his shirt to stroke his stomach. He leans in and kisses her on the temple. "You remember that dream you were telling me about a while back? Before—"

"The one with the kid? That we named after your Uncle Morgan?"

"Yeah," she says. "I just had the same one."

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to write anything since Infinity War, so consider this my attempt to break my dry streak. And finally channel my grief.
> 
> Thanks to cityfibers and zachas for support.
> 
> Title from Neruda's "Si tu me olvidas."
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://3wworms.tumblr.com).


End file.
